


Shelter

by WickedNerdAngel



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguing, Blow Jobs, Bottom Jensen Ackles, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Foursome - F/F/M/M, Instagram, Jensen Ackles Singing, M/M, New Year's Eve, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Top Misha Collins, Upset Misha Collins, Vaginal Fingering, cooking together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 04:47:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14762876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedNerdAngel/pseuds/WickedNerdAngel
Summary: By the time the plane takes off from Bellingham International, Misha's mood has dropped as low as the frigid Washington temperatures. He has no good answer for why he decided to look at his social media mentions again, but here he is, dreaming up creative ways to get away with murder and make Jensen keep his promise to help him bury the body. Vicki tries more than a few times to lift his spirits by showing him the good comments, the love his fans are giving him, but he's too lost in his own head.In which Misha Collins is upset by a moldy condiment and his nasty followers... and a trip to Austin, Texas is just the prescription he needs to show him how much he's loved.





	1. A Little Help From My Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Beautiful artwork by the lovely and talented MishaHead (@IamMishaHead on Twitter) THANK YOU, FRIEND! 
> 
> I started this one in January (and just finished it *pats self on back for actually finishing something. Heh.)  
> Basically the jist of it is... that was Jensen Ackles' hand in Misha's NYE Instagram video, and I will not EVER be convinced otherwise. XD 
> 
> **TW for mention of TAW and his cronies.** 
> 
> This is a work of fiction. It all comes from the feeble, feely, often confused and a little nutty sponge between my ears. No disrespect intended to any of the characters depicted or mentioned (except one... you can guess who that is). 
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it. Kudos and comments always welcome and appreciated! <3<3

Shelter

By WickedNerdAngel

 

***

 

Misha groans as his phone buzzes for the umpteenth time in who knows how many days. The idea of talking to his attorney _again_ today is less than appealing, but he lifts the offending device anyway and squints.

 **Jackles** flashes brightly across the screen, and he takes a cleansing breath before swiping his thumb to answer.

“Hey, Jens,” Misha sighs into the phone.

“Hey buddy!” Jensen's voice is entirely too chipper. Misha rolls his eyes, but a smile creeps across his lips in spite of himself. “Haven't heard from you in, like, a day--”

“Twenty-nine hours,” Misha quips.

Jensen laughs. “Okay, haven't heard from you in _twenty-nine hours_ ,” his voice taking a mocking tone as he repeats Misha's words, “what, uh, what ya doing?”

“Plotting.”

“Mmhmm, sounds interesting. World domination? Time travel? Hacking into the White House computers to uncover Trump's torrid love affair with Putin?” Jensen chuckles at himself. “I mean you probably already know how to do that last one, but whatever.”

“All intriguing,” Misha replies, “but no.”

“Why do you always make me beg for information, Mish? Alright, _fine_. I'll bite. What are you plotting, Misha?”

“More like an exposè on Dateline’s 'How to catch a predator’ featuring a lying little fucking weasel _actor_ \- and I use that term loosely - who thinks he's God's gift to Supernatural _and_ all the female fans.”

“Wha... _oh_.” Jensen pauses. “Did... something else happen?”

Misha can hear his friend sigh heavily and grumble on the other end. It gives him a sense of warmth and longing that he tries to ignore. No, he wants to be pissed. He _deserves_ to be pissed. He--

“Mish,” Jensen's voice is low, concerned. It's taken on a consoling tone and Misha hates it. He hates that his friends are worried about him. It's the fucking holidays. He's supposed to be fucking jolly, and he's the most pissed about the fact that he's let some asshole, with clearly nothing better to do in his life than spread lies about him, get the better of him. “I'm sorry you have to deal with this bullshit. _Sorry!”_ Misha hears him yell away from the phone, followed by Danneel's shrill but muffled voice, and he chuckles to himself. “JJ started a fucking swear jar,” Jensen murmurs into the phone, “I owe that child... _a lot_ of money.” Misha belly-laughs at that. “That's a nice sound, Mish.” The smile in Jensen's tone is apparent.

“Well, I'm fine, Jensen.”

“You don't sound fine.”

“I'm _fine_.” Misha pouts. He's being obtuse now, but when someone's trying to destroy your credibility, no matter how futile the attempt, it tends to open the door for a guy to be a little fractious.

“Uh-huh.”

“You're pissing me off, Ackles.”

“You know there's no love lost with that prick, right?”

“Yes,” Misha sighs again, drawing out the word.

“You know if I could get my hands on him, I'd fuck him up in the non-sexy way, right?”

“I'll accept that,” Misha shrugs, “alright.”

“You know I'd help you bury the body, right?”

Misha laughs. “Okay whoa there, cowboy. I think we're gonna try to keep things on the legal side.”

“That's boring,” Jensen chuckles. “Speaking of legal, what's everyone saying?”

“I've talked to all of them,” Misha clenches his jaw as he speaks. “Mine's keeping an eye on things,” he air quotes to himself and rolls his eyes, “Warner Brothers and Creation can't really do anything yet, since Darth Taw hasn't _necessarily_ slandered them...yet.”

There's a pregnant pause on the other end of the line. Misha can hear his friend breathing, so he knows the call hasn't dropped. He decides to wait… patiently, well, until he doesn't.

“Jens what are you-”

“I wanna see you, Mish.” The cadence of his voice has dropped. Low. The tone hushed. Misha knows that tone, and his heart beats a little faster; he feels himself heat up a bit.

“I miss you too,” he all but whispers.

“So there's this thing coming up in a few days,” Jensen's voice is back to normal, but Misha can hear the longing in it. He grips the phone a little tighter. “I dunno if you've heard of it; it's called New Year's Eve?”

“I haven't,” Misha teases, “what is this phenomenon you speak of? If it's scandalous, I'm in.”

“Mmmm, it can be,” his reply comes quick, an edge to his voice. Misha knows that as well, and suddenly, he's a little less comfortable in his jeans. “Seriously, though, what do, uh, what are you guys doing?”

“Hang on.” Misha cups his hand over the receiver, but not enough, apparently, because his yelling is still loud enough to blast through Jensen's eardrum. “Vicki!” Jensen hears the groan of Misha's leather couch as he evidently gets up to go find his wife. “Victoria Vantoch!” He shouts again. Jensen hears Vicki's voice as Misha doesn't even bother to muffle their conversation this time. _Ah, apparently he found her._ “You look hot in that, babe,” his voice playful. “She's wearing paint splattered sweatpants and one if my very holey t-shirts,” he addresses his friend again. Jensen laughs. “Oh and what's that exquisite hairdo called? A messy bun? Yeah, it's like a bird’s nest waiting to happen. Don't go outside, Vick.”

“Fuck off, you unbearable dork,” the better half of this sultry exchange replies, “who are you talking to?”

“Some guy named Travis,” Misha deadpans, “you wanna talk to him?”

Jensen snorts.

“Dmitri Tippins Krush--” Vicki warns, her tone slightly dangerous. Jensen decides not to explore how much he likes that. Not today anyway.

“Oh for fuck sake, you're no fun. It's just Jensen,” Misha admonishes.

“Oh... hi Jensen!” her voice goes up a couple octaves.

Jensen smiles into the phone. “Hi, V.”

“He says, 'hi, V,’” Misha relays.

“What are you two heathens cooking up?” Vicki asks.

“Jensen wants to know what we're doing for New Year's Eve. I'm pretty sure he wants a wild orgy. Are you inviting other people, Jens?”

“Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you, Dmitri? Not gonna happen,” Jensen retorts.

“Oh c'mon, you know I like it when it's just the four of us,” Misha chuckles.

Vicki rolls her eyes at the both of them, even though she can't hear what Jensen's saying. “Mmm? Haven't really thought about it. We could see if Mom & Dad wanna take the kids?”

“Yes. Tell her yeah, that's a good idea,” Jensen orders.

“Jesus, you're eager,” Misha teases his friend, a frustrated growl being the only response he gets on the other line. “Victoria, my love,” he turns his attention to his wife, “I think that might be the best idea you've ever had...give or take.” He grins and winks at his beloved. She smiles warmly, knowingly, in return.

Vicki knows how much her high school sweetheart adores their children and would love to ring in the new year with them, but she also knows he's been having a hard time lately. Spending time with close friends is exactly what he needs. “Okay, get the hell outta here and leave me alone,” she waves her husband away, “it appears I now have plane tickets and a rental car to book. You, my love, get to call your in-laws and bribe them into keeping your demon spawns.”

“How dare you, they're _angel's!_ They inherited that from me.” Misha flashes her a grin/wink combo.

“Jensen, make him stop!” she pleads. The laugh, however, gives her away.

“Nope, Jens is on my side on this one, right Jackles?”

“Dude, don't get me in the doghouse with your wife before you even get here. She's… intimidating.”

“I can't believe you,” Misha feigns contempt, “the betrayal. But you gotta admit, she's hot when she's intimidating.”

Jensen can't argue with that.

As it turns out, the in-laws are more than ecstatic to take the kids; they _are,_ in fact, angels; they _do,_ in fact, get it from him, and Misha's decided everyone can kiss his ass. (Not that he would ever say that to his wife. She actually is intimidating. And hot.)

***

By the time the plane takes off from Bellingham International, Misha's mood has dropped as low as the frigid Washington temperatures. He has no good answer for why he decided to look at his social media mentions again, but here he is, dreaming up creative ways to get away with murder and make Jensen keep his promise to help him bury the body. Vicki tries more than a few times to lift his spirits by showing him the good comments, the love _his_ fans are giving him, but he's too lost in his own head.

He puts his earbuds in and closes his eyes, effectively ignoring his wife, feeling like a complete asshole, and falling deeper into this cesspool of anger. He's even more pissed that he's letting the hate from that piece of shit’s followers overshadow his own fans, who he fucking loves an insane amount, _goddamn it._

The drive to the Ackles’ estate is quiet, save for the soft sounds of the music coming from the car stereo. Vicki's taken to reading, while Misha calmly broods over his social media shit storm, the sprawling plains and bright sun a stark contrast to his home by the majestic pines and sea, but beautiful in it's own way. He reaches over and takes his wife's hand, squeezing it gently, registering his silent apology as she side-eyes him with a knowing smile.

They're greeted warmly by their friends when they arrive around noon on December thirty-first. Misha puts on his best smile, kissing Danneel, then wrapping her in a tight embrace, but she knows something's off because he doesn't let go for a long while. Her eyes widen as she looks over his shoulder at Jensen and Vicki, who also greet each other with a quick peck on the lips and a tight hug. Vicki catches her eye and nods in acknowledgement, whispering to Jensen before letting him go, “he needs you.”

Jensen stiffens briefly, turning to look at his friend, realizing that things went south again, but composes himself carefully before they switch partners. The girls nearly tackle-hug one another before walking arm in arm to the kitchen for an early glass of wine, as Jensen pulls one of the best friends he's ever had in, wrapping his arms around him. Misha immediately reciprocates. The shorter man resting his chin on Jensen's shoulder. Jensen can feel the tension seep out of him as he squeezes Misha a little tighter, taking a moment to nuzzle his neck, drink him in.

“How you doin’ man?” he asks against Misha's skin. He feels the responding shiver, but the man isn't giving an inch. He defies his body's natural response to Jensen by huffing in response and pulling away.

Of course, then he completely deflects the question by changing the subject. “Well, I guess these are our responsibility as the strapping lumberjacks of the four,” Misha says, waving his hand toward the two carry-on suitcases on the floor.

“Mish,” Jensen starts.

“Where do you want us, Jens?” Misha replies, raising his eyebrows with the question.

Jensen sighs, puts his hands on his hips and nods his head. “Alright. That's how you wanna play this? It's fine.”

“Yep,” Misha pops the 'p.’ “That's how I'm playing this. You wanna help or not?” His tone is sarcastic with a dangerous undertone and, while that's usually sexy as hell, Jensen's not finding it sexy in the least. It's actually pissing him off at the moment, but he let's it go… for now.

Jensen’s nature gets the best of him, though, and he can't help but roll his eyes, grabbing one of the suitcases and heading toward the stairs. “We'll just put them in the master,” he announces when they reach the top. “I doubt we'll be needing another bedroom tonight, right?”

“Someone's thirsty, aren't they?”

Sarcasm again. The kind of acidic sarcasm designed to make one feel about an inch tall. Jensen bristles. Still, he doesn't call him on it. He tries a different approach instead.

“You want a drink, Mish?” He sets the luggage in the corner, his back to Misha - who doesn't answer right away. He asks again, “hey, you wanna drink?”

“I'm thinking,” the acid in his tone reaching an all time high. Jensen grits his teeth, hard. “What's the hardest liquor?” Misha muses aloud, seemingly to himself. “Do you have any moonshine?”

“What? _Moonshine_?” He quirks an eyebrow at Misha. “When have you ever had moonshine?”

“Does it matter?” Misha counters. “Do you have any?”

Jensen bites his tongue almost to the point of pain, but he can't help the tinge of acid that slips out in his own tone. “No, I don't have any fucking moonshine, Misha. This is Texas, not Kentucky.”

“So what, you're too good for moonshine? That what you're saying?”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” This is not about moonshine. Jensen knows that. But the shit's gonna stop and soon. Misha just stares at him, trying to be intimidating, like he does. Jensen rolls his head back to look at the ceiling, to try and gather himself before he snaps at the man that, he reminds himself, he loves unconditionally. “I have scotch,” he finally says, “you want scotch?”

“That's fucking lame, Jensen,” Misha gripes.

Okay, Jensen's had enough. “Fine, let me ask you this then. You gonna keep being a fucking asshole to me, or you gonna talk to me?”

Misha juts his jaw out like a petulant child, pointedly looking at the window and _not_ at Jensen. “I'm not being an asshole.”

“Oh really? You sure about that, Mish? Because every word that comes out of your mouth is making you sound like an asshole right now.” Misha gives him a sidelong glare. “I _want_ you here,” Jensen continues, “I miss the fuck out of you, man. I _need_ you to shoot straight with me and stop fucking around!”

“What do you want me to say, Jensen?” Misha's still petulant; still not giving an inch.

“I _want_ you to talk to me!” Jensen's voice is increasing in volume, and he doesn't want this. _Goddamn it, he doesn't want this._ He breathes slowly, in through his nose, out through his mouth… as they say, a cleansing breath. “I want you to talk to me, Mish. I _know_ you, I care about you… so fucking much. And I know when you're upset. Just please,” he begs, blinking his eyes slowly “talk to me, man.”

Misha sighs, long and heavy, scrubbing his face with his hands before holding his arms out to his sides. “I'm sorry. I am being an asshole and it's not your fault, Jens. I'll, um, I'll take some scotch.”

“I'll get you a drink…” Jensen stalks toward Misha, who squares his shoulders. “But you're gonna talk to me.” His mouth is on Misha's before he can even reply. Misha melts into it almost instantly, parting the Texan's lips with his own before delving his tongue inside. Both men moan, Jensen's hips piston without hesitation, and Misha chuckles.

“You _are_ thirsty.”

“I'm not the only one.” Jensen reaches between them to palm Misha's growing erection before attacking his mouth again, revelling in Misha's answering groan. He spins them around and pushes Misha to sit on the California king.

“Aloha cowboy.” Misha grins up at him, watching as Jensen sinks to his knees in front of him. “Wait, I thought we were having drinks?”

Jensen's head falls back in frustration. “Aw, man, c'mon! You're killin’ me.” It's his turn to level a dangerous glare on Misha. “So, what? Now you need alcohol to do this shit with me?”

“It… was a joke, Jens.” But the look on Jensen's face is far from amused. Misha's irritated with himself again. He sighs, his fingers glide through golden brown tendrils as he watches Jensen's green eyes flutter closed. *I'm sorry… again,” Misha whispers.

Jensen sits back on his heels. His fingers knead into Misha's thighs, firm, but gentle at the same time. “Tell me what happened,” he says softly, opening his eyes to see Misha's face scrunched into a frown. “Did that five-foot-nothing douche canoe say something else?” Jensen's suddenly raging and he hasn't even heard Misha's answer.

Misha looks to the side, shrugging as he inhales. “Just how awful my photo ops are with fans. Just how inappropriate I am at conventions. And his followers…” he cringes, “saying the most awful things.”

“Mishka, look at me,” Jensen pleads, his palms caressing Misha's thighs, thumbs drawing light circles that the older man feels deep in his bones. Misha obliges, sad blue eyes boring into Jensen's. “Everyone loves you, man, most of all me, V and Dee. All the cast & crew love you. Your two-plus million fans absolutely adore you.”

“What if they don't after this?” Misha whispers. “What if they actually think I'm what… _those people_ say I am? This could really fuck with my life, Jens.”

“That's not possible, baby.” Jensen amends. “And those other people? Travis - bag of dicks - Wade, his followers, and anyone else that says shitty things about you? They're either jealous or they say fucked up shit because they're delusional. You're _good_ , Mish. You and Dee, you both have the brightest souls of anyone I've ever met.”

Misha closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I'm not…” he hesitates. When he opens his eyes again to look at Jensen, they're red rimmed and misty. “I don't deserve all this… love, not the way I've been acting.”

Jensen places his hands on either side of Misha's cheeks, sucking in a breath before he speaks. He wants to scream this from the rooftops, but that wouldn't necessarily be prudent, would it? “You deserve everything, Dmitri. Do you hear me? _Everything_ good, you deserve _.”_ Misha tries to turn his head away, but Jensen holds it steady. “Don't make me drill this into your head, literally, or carve it into your forehead so you see it every time you look in the mirror. I swear to God, I'll do it. I have knives… and power tools.”

Misha's mouth curls into a grin, then he smirks. “Well, I mean, that's a bit violent, Jackles.”

“I'm a violent asshole for a living, Mish.”

Misha laughs, reaching forward to slide his fingers to the back of his friend's head. “C'mere, you violent asshole.”

The kiss is slow, sinuous, emotions pouring into every movement, tongues sliding together in a gentle, slow dance. Jensen's hands move back to caress Misha's thighs, sliding up to his back and down again. His knuckles graze Misha's erection through his jeans and the man moans, low and hoarse. It does things to Jensen. His fingers make quick work of the the fly and he dips them inside. Misha nips at his lips in response.

“Lay back,” Jensen instructs, pushing on Misha's chest until he complies. “Let me make you feel good.”

Misha lifts his hips silently when Jensen tugs on his pants, to help out. The cool air hits his bare skin suddenly; goosebumps bloom across his legs, which Jensen promptly smooths with his warm hands. Misha's sigh is pleasant. Jensen wraps the shaft in his fist firmly, flicking his tongue at the sensitive spot just below the head and sucks it into his mouth. Misha arches off the bed with a hiss and a low moan, prompting Jensen further. He bathes in the soft mewls and low growls escaping the man above him. It's moments like this, when Misha is straining, wrecked, writhing under his touch… these moments, he never wants to end.

Jensen relaxes his throat, sucking Misha as deep as he can without gagging (because the man's fucking huge), flattening his tongue with each pull upward. Misha's hands fly to Jensen's head, tangling almost painfully. _“Christ, Jens,”_ the older man moans, thrusting gently in time with Jensen's movements. “You’re too good at this. _Shit,”_ he grunts, “I'm close.”

Jensen hums in response, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks harder, grazing Misha's shaft lightly with his teeth. He wants to make Misha come undone. He wants him to forget everything and just feel this, just feel good. Hell, he'll do any-fucking-thing to make Misha forget the bullshit he's dealing with today. He grips the shaft with one hand, pumping, his lips still wrapped around the tip as Misha writhes. His free hand slips under Misha's ass, kneading, his fingers sliding up and down until he feels puckered flesh. He applies pressure, but doesn't penetrate, afraid of hurting his friend without lube. Misha arches violently.

 _“Fuck, I'm...gonna...come,”_ he whines, panting, _“Jens, I'm-”_

Jensen pops his mouth off Misha's dick, running his chin up the length as he speaks, “I've got you, Mish. Come.” His mouth is back on Misha without another word, sucking as hard as he can. Misha's entire body seizes, his blunt nails dig into Jensen's scalp as, with a silent cry, he comes so hard, stars burst behind his eyelids.

Jensen milks him dry, licking the sensitive tip.for good measure, chuckling as Misha jumps and pushes his head away. The dark haired man is up on his elbows now, a punch drunk look on his face.

 _Perfect,_ Jensen thinks.

“C'mere.” Misha tugs on him until Jensen's hovering over him. He reaches between them, working to unbutton Jensen's jeans. Jensen tries to stop him, but he's too damned fast. His long fingers are wrapped around Jensen hard, cotton-sheathed cock in an instant.

“Fuck,” he growls between clenched teeth. He pulls at Misha's arm, but the stubborn asshole just resists, pressing his fingertips into Jensen's balls, Jensen nearly collapsing on top of him. _“Mish,”_ he groans, I don't need…” he gasps as Misha slides his palm up and down his shaft. “Stop, Mish, please.”

Misha's movements falter. He looks confused, eyebrows furrowed. “But… you're hard as a fucking rock, Jensen. I wanna take care of you too.”

Jensen smooths the worry marks between Misha's brows with his lips, kissing gently, then shaking his head as he stares into hypnotizing blue eyes. “Gimme your hand, you asshole.” He grins. Misha rolls his eyes, pulling his hand out of Jensen's pants. Jensen immediately grabs it, intertwines their fingers and presses Misha's knuckles into the mattress. “I told you I wanted to make _you_ feel better. That was all for you, Mish. I'm okay. You can take care of me later, got it?” He fixes Misha with a stern look. His 'no nonsense Dean look.’ He feels like he sells it well, but Misha snorts.

“You know that look just turns me on even more, right?”

Jensen tries to keep a straight face. He bites the inside of his cheek, but it doesn't work. He's disappointed in himself, but laughs anyway. This fucker always knows how to break him… in the bedroom at least. A far cry from the role reversal on set. “You can nail me later. It's time for drinks.” He winks.

Misha pulls him down for a kiss, pressing their foreheads together after. “I fucking love you. Thank you,” he whispers.

Jensen smiles, wide and toothy. “I fucking love you too, weirdo. Now let's go find our girls.”

***

“That was so hilarious! Oh my  _ god _ , Jensen was freaking out,” Danneel laughs while she speaks, wine sloshing in her glass as she reminisces about Misha's video and the  _ blow torch _ fiasco.

“What was I freaking out about?” Jensen saunters into the room, two fingers of whisky carefully cradled in his left hand, his right gripping - a very satisfied-looking - Misha's shoulder; the older man clasping his own tumbler of pale gold whiskey.

“Hey, babe!” Danneel grins at her husband, which is followed by a yelp as Misha takes it upon himself to plop down in the very small space between the two women. He kisses his wife's cheek, laying his head on her shoulder, and promptly wraps his free hand around Danneel's tiny thigh. Her eyes narrow as her head pivots from her shocked, yet playful stare at Misha, back to Jensen. “What have you two been up to? You…” She points at Jensen, “look like the cat that ate the canary.” She swings her pointed finger then to Misha. “And  _ you _ look like the  canary.” 

Misha answers by lifting his head, smiling conspiratorially and slurping his scotch a bit too quickly.

Vicki laughs, nearly choking on her Duckhorn Merlot, and leans across her all but giggling husband to stage whisper at Danneel. “Oh I'm sure there was some 'eating’ going on.” She winks dramatically, catching Jensen's eye roll as she glances up at him. She doesn't think about how intimidatingly sexy he is standing there, giving them both the stink-eye. Not at all.

Danneel snorts. “Or swallowing.”

Misha loses it at that, throwing his head back, his boisterous laugh blanketing all of them like a warm, summer breeze.

“Alright,  _ alright.”  _ Jensen swipes his hand in the air across the three of them. “Calm

down.”

“What's that on your shirt, baby?” Danneel points toward the statuesque Texan, squinting for good measure.

“What, this?” He looks down, chin meeting chest, points in the general direction, but then lifts his middle finger, effectively flipping his adorable wife the bird, his mouth curling into satisfied smirk. Her face lights up with amusement, toothy grin adorning her flawless features and flirty eyes.

Jensen's helpless against it. He leans down to plant a wet, open mouth kiss on his wife's awaiting lips, then pulls away with a wink.

“No, guys,” Misha announces, emptying the last of the glass’ contents into his mouth. “He didn't dribble any this time.”

The girls erupt in laughter and Jensen cringes, narrowing grass-green eyes at Misha fucking Collins. “C'mon, man! Can we  _ not?” _

Misha simply smiles, closed-mouthed and child-like, lifting his glass as if in tribute to the man before him’s crushed ego. “Refill, cowboy?”

_ Someday, Mr. Jensen perfect-faced Ackles’ eyes are gonna stick like that, if he keeps rolling them so much, _ Misha thinks as he triumphantly watches his boyfriend snatch the tumbler out of his hand.

“Fine,” Jensen grumbles. “But just one. You're gonna need a nap as it is before tonight.”

“So bossy,” Misha puts on his best 'grumpy Ackles’ face as he speaks through pursed lips, before following up with a wink and a nudge in Danneel's direction, “but hot, right?”

“So hot,” she agrees.

“Oh, Mrs. Ackles, I do believe our boy is blushing,” Misha teases.  _ And there's that eye roll again. _

“I'm serious, Dmitri, we have business later.” Jensen fixes him with another no nonsense stare.

“Sexy business?” Misha challenges him with a raised eyebrow.

Jensen in turn squares his shoulders and stares back. Seconds tick by with neither man budging, the girls’ heads shifting side to side mimicking spectators in a high octane tennis match. Vicki finally stops and looks at Danneel.

“I dunno what's happening right now,” she says, eyes wide in wonderment.

“Shhh!” Danneel waves her hand over Misha - who doesn't flinch - at the other woman. “It's just getting good.”

Finally Jensen rescinds, dropping his eyes from the cobalt strangle hold they'd been in. He knows he's no match for that look. “Anyway,” he mumbles, clearly trying to show some semblance of control, albeit fruitlessly, “this is it for a while, buddy.”

“Oh please, Jenssss,” Misha's just fucking with him now. “I'm, like, five and a half million percent sure I can hold my schcotch.”

Danneel starts to giggle, but covers her mouth with her fingers when Jensen levels a dangerous glare on her.

“Wait a minute, what just happened?” Vicki holds her hand up.

“Ya see, Vick,” Danneel cradles her chin with her thumb and forefinger, turning to face her and taking on the cadence of a news reporter. “It would appear that Jensen attempted to establish dominance with Misha here, but was mentally spanked into submission by the sharp arch of the brow and strong jawset of Mr. Krushnic, as we both witnessed.”

There's a short stretch of silence as Danneel plops back against the couch with a Cheshire cat grin. Jensen's struck dumb, Vicki's pressing her lips together, and Misha's looking, well, smug as fuck. A snort, coming from Vicki, breaks the silence, followed by one from Misha, and suddenly, the three of them erupt in laughter.

Jensen's nostrils flare, his expression almost comical 'annoyed as hell Dean’ as he cocks his head to the side and huffs. “I hate all three of you.” He punctuates each word with the wag of his finger and storms off. The laughter rings out behind him.

Misha lays his head back on his beloved’s shoulder after wiping his tears of laughter away and sighs contentedly. Vicki scratches her fingers through this brown tendrils, speckled bits of silver at his temples, and kisses the top of his head. “You okay, honey?” she asks.

Misha nods in reply. “Yeah.” He tilts his head back to kiss her cheek. “I was an asshole. He set me straight. I love that jerk.”

“I know,” she says, amused.

“Mmm, I love you too.” He nuzzles her neck a little.

She chuckles. “I know that too, ya big dork.”

Misha gestures at Danneel. “I love you too, Dani-girl, get your ass over here.” She laughs, leaning over on him, and effectively turning the couch into an official cuddle train.

It doesn't take the bow legged grump long to lick his wounds, as he trots back into the living room whistling the theme to Star Wars. He stops abruptly at the scene before him, however, and carefully reconstructs his famous Ackles scowl.  With the hand holding a fresh glass of scotch for Misha, he points at the three of them.

“What is this shit? We having a cuddle party now?” His perfect lips curl into an approving grin, though, as they glance up at him.

Danneel waves him over. “Yep! Get over here, mister macho.”

He hands Misha the glass housing the strong liquid, letting his fingers linger on his friend's for a moment, before dropping down next to his wife, snuggling in close. There's companionable silence for a few moments before he decides there's a new - or forgotten at his expense, rather - subject to broach.

“Hey, what were you two lovely ladies discussing when Mish and I came downstairs?”

“Hm? Oh!” Danneel sits up a little. “Vick was just about to tell me how to make a pie-caken?” She glances at Vicki in question, who nods in affirmation at Misha's made up word. “And then I was talking about how you freaked out over Westie having the blow torch.” She laughs.

“Oh right,” Jensen nods, chuckling to himself. “Although, let's not get crazy. I dunno if I'd call it  _ freaking out.” _

“Gimme an hour with JJ,” Misha says. “I'll have her building incredible pieces of furniture with a little bit of compressed fire and a few minor power tools.”

“How about  _ hell _ no, you nut,” Jensen admonishes. “I mean, seriously dude, a blow torch? And a seven year old?”

“See what I mean?” Danneel looks at Vicki and shrugs. “Freaking out.”

Misha lifts his head suddenly in Jensen's direction as a curious Vicki peers around to see what her goof-of-a husband is up to. His face contorts to that of the devastated angel he plays on TV: eyes wide and hurt-filled, mouth turned down into a (fake, but) sad frown.

“Okay you see this?” Vicki goes all Vanna White on the display that happens to be Misha. “This! This is the look he gave me when he asked if West could hold the goddamn blow torch and I said no!” She throws her hands up in defeat. “No one can handle those fucking puppy eyes. He's a maniac!”

“Pfft, tell me about it,” Jensen agrees. “Why do you think I have to fuck with him so much when we have a  _ staring scene,” _ Jensen air quotes. “I can't handle that look, man.”

“Aww, Jens. And here I just thought you and that Neanderthal we work with were black belts in Lebanese torture techniques,” Misha quips.

Jensen laughs, but licks his lips, green eyes raking over Misha's face.

“Oh my god, get a room.” It's Danneel's turn to roll her eyes.

“We have one readily available, amirite, Jackles?” Misha wiggles his eyebrows. “Not to jump subjects again, but where is said Neanderthal and his incredibly patient, saint-like wife?”

“They're skiing up at Whistler in Vancouver,” Jensen replies.

“Oh my god, he's gonna break something,” Misha scoffs. “On himself or someone else. Probably someone else.”

Danneel giggles.

“Yeah, they probably shoulda cleared the resort just for him,” Jensen says, “like a horse on skis.”

“Or a moose,” Vicki deadpans.

The four of them laugh fondly, thinking about their freakishly tall, lanky friend.

***


	2. You Will Shelter Me, My Love... And I Will Shelter You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those three nefariously plotting against him is the reason he finds himself sitting awkwardly on his ottoman, in the the middle of his living room floor, trying to tune his guitar in a pinch, and also trying to breathe. Jesus Christ, the nerves he feels with people he knows and loves staring at him expectantly. Put him in front of three thousand fans at conventions, and he's aces. This? Not so much. It's like stage-it without Jason. It ain't cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't heard the song Shelter by Ray LaMontagne, GO LISTEN IMMEDIATELY  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GSxe2MupKD8  
> And then picture one, Jensen Ross Ackles playing/singing it in his living room for the people he loves. 
> 
> Seriously, I just need the man to sing anything at all by Ray LaMontagne at this point. I'd probably sell my soul for it. 
> 
> Enjoy Chapter 2!

The rest of the afternoon is spent lazily. A lot of lounging on the couch ensues, a lot of conversation about nothing and everything at the same time; casual, companionable conversation between friends and lovers alike. 

Misha enquires on where the Ackles’ - as he puts it, 'two point five, point five kids’ - are, and upon learning that they're with Jensen's parents, indulges his smartassed side by commenting how he's just  _ positive _ they'll be bringing them all back before the clock strikes twelve. Jensen, being the insufferable smartass that _ he _ also is, remarks that since he doesn't let his kids play with  _ blowtorches _ , he thinks they'll be just fine.

And thus ensues the almost forgotten about argument on which dad is the best dad ever. It doesn't get heated, though, because each man knows the other is an incredible father - and person - for that matter. They do find themselves eventually wrestling in the middle of the living room floor, much to the girls’ annoyance (who gracefully call them jackasses and go to the kitchen for more wine).

Jensen, having been distracted for a moment by the game he'd turned on and seeing the Texans getting their asses beat by the Colts, ends up face down on the carpet, arm wrenched behind his back, and Misha between his legs telling him to, “call me daddy!”

Jensen obliges begrudgingly. Of course he doesn't admit he likes that. A  _ fucking _ lot. But Misha knows. Just by the way Jensen's squirming underneath him.

_ Later _ , he thinks.

The girls reenter the room, having just missed the WWE smackdown, but the evidence is apparent.

“Ah, I see Jensen got pinned again,” Danneel says nonchalantly, nudging Vicki with her elbow.

*What… _ how _ … I did not!”  _ Benedict Arnold!  _ He screams at her in his head, glaring, because how dare she just… know?

“Jen, honey, you have rug burn on your face,” Vicki addresses him.

“Again,” Danneel adds, her snort ascending to a wickedly cute giggle as Jensen's glare tracks her again like a laser.

“I made Jensen call me daddy,” Misha proudly announces.

“Oh Jesus Christ.” Vicki and Danneel are both doubled over now, they're bodies shaking with mirth, and of course, Jensen is still glaring. He uses his acting skills to train his features into looking like he's about to cry and Danneel hops up off the couch.

“Aww, babe,” she coos, “you want me to kiss it better?” He resists at first as she peppers kisses around the rug burn that flares red on his cheek bone, but when her lips meet his, he melts into her.

“Okay, my turn!” Misha blurts as he hops up, wraps his arms around Danneel's waist, and lifts her effortlessly away from her stunned husband - lips still puckered, eyes blinking rapidly. Danneel squeals and stumbles as Misha puts her back on the floor, and then his arms are wound tightly around the taller man in front of him.

Jensen's arms are suspended in mid air for a moment before he acquiesces, gingerly wrapping around the incredibly childish shithead he's pressed against. “I get to kiss it better now,” he whispers in Jensen's ear, making the man shiver, “I did this after all.”

His lips press softly on Jensen's angry flesh; the tough guy winces, and Misha pulls one arm free to cradle the other side  of Jensen's face, keeping him still. He kisses lightly, moving his lips slowly down and across, letting them ghost over Jensen's. Misha feels his jaw clench in response. When Jensen leans in to capture those lips with his own, Misha pulls back, smiling devilishly.

“You are such an asshole,” Jensen whispers.

Misha licks his lips for good measure, Jensen's eyes immediately honing in on them. “I know. I love you too, Jackles.” 

“It's too early for that shit, boys.” Vicki's rolling her eyes. Danneel nods in agreement at her friend.

“It is  _ never _ too early for that, Victoria,” Misha admonishes, plopping into the closest arm chair, grinning to himself as he watches Jensen Ross Ackles try not to make a show of adjusting himself. The girls snicker to themselves as Jensen sits between them, letting them pet him dramatically as he settles his laser glare on his jerk of a  _ friend. _

Before the foursome realize, dusk settles across the Austin, Texas sky, turning it from bright blue to a mesmerizing gold, red and silver. The group thinks briefly about sitting outside, but Mother Nature can be deceiving as hell, because it's  _ freezing _ … well, per Texans’ standards, it is. They settle for sitting in the back, screened-in porch area huddled in blankets while Jensen stokes the flames coming from the fire pit. They sit in companionable silence, an occasional murmur of conversation, mostly just content watching dark clouds roll in as dusk gives way to the blackness of night.

“Baby, why don't you go get your guitar!” Danneel says suddenly, smacking Jensen on his knee. A little too enthusiastically, if he's being totally honest.

_ "Owww?” _ He looks at her incredulously.

“Sorry,” she laughs. “But seriously, get your guitar. Sing us something,  _ rockstar _ .” She follows that up with a sultry wink.

“Dee, it's  _ freezing  _ out here. My teeth will be chattering through the entire song. And I haven't sung in a  while, I'm… outta practice,” he mumbles the last part.

“I mean, I'm just hearing a bunch of bullshit excuses, Jens.” Misha's clearly not helping matters. Jensen glares in his direction…  _ again. _ Misha just grins in response.

“Please!” Danneel has her bottom lip out now in a pout and now Jensen's pissed because he knows he can't resist that.  _ Fucking hell, he's whipped. _

Then of course, there's his asshole boyfriend, who leads the three of them in a chant of, “Jen-sen, Jen-sen, Jen-sen!”

“Oh my god,  _ fine!”  _ he yells finally. “You three are ridiculous! Can we  _ at least  _ go inside first?” The three erupt into shouts of ascension, to which Jensen - as usual - shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

Those three nefariously plotting against him is the reason he finds himself sitting awkwardly on his ottoman, in the the middle of his living room floor, trying to tune his guitar in a pinch, and also trying to breathe.  _ Jesus Christ _ , the nerves he feels with people he knows and loves staring at him expectantly. Put him in front of three thousand fans at conventions, and he's aces. This? Not so much. It's like stage-it without Jason. It ain't cool.

“Ok-ay,” his voice cracks and he clears it, shaking his hands out to put some feeling back in them.

“Oh, babe, why are you so nervous?” Danneel looks a little concerned. “Mish, go kiss him. Loosen him up a little”

“No! No, Dee,” Jensen holds his finger up firmy. “That'll make it worse.” He glances over at Misha - who looks a little dejected - eyes darting away just as fast.  _ Perfect _ . Now, he's mentally kicking himself.  _ That's not what he meant, damn it.  _ He's actually hoping to make the blue-eyed cutie-pa-tootie feel  _ better _ , not worse. “Anyway,” he continues, now speaking to the carpet… because it's fucking easier, “Dee had some coffee house shit on the radio the other day-” he hears her huff and he grins at her, “and I heard this song, and, uh, it just seems more perfect now, so here goes.”

He starts strumming the guitar, getting the feel of the melody. As soon as the actual tune of the song starts, he looks at his wife. She recognizes it immediately, her mouth forming a silent “oh” as she covers her lips with her fingers, but she nods in affirmation, adding a wink and a thumbs up to confirm her approval. It's all the confidence booster he needs to start singing.

_ “I guess you don't need it, _

_ I guess you don't want me to repeat it, _ _   
_ _ But everything I have to give I'll give to you...” _

He glances up at Misha, who's situated between the girls again, his right arm around Vicki, left elbow on Danneel's shoulder, palm cradling his cheek. Jensen looks away and continues.

_ “It's not like we planned it, _

_ You tried to stay, but you could not stand it, _ __   
_ To see me shut down slow, _ _   
_ __ As though it was an easy thing to do...”

And on to the chorus.

_ “Listen when, _

_ All of this around us will fall over, _ __   
_ I tell you what we're gonna do, _ _   
_ __ Hey-ey, 

_ You will shelter me, my love, _ __   
_ And I, I will shelter you, _ _   
_ __ I will shelter you...”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Danneel lean her head against Misha's. He can't get himself to fully look, though. He plucks at the strings beautifully, the music bouncing off the vaulted ceiling, back down and surrounding his friends like a cocoon.

_ “I left you heartbroken, _

_ But not until those very words were spoken, _ _   
_ _ Has anybody ever made such a fool out of you?” _

He strums a little louder now, a little more confident, finally watching his very small, but very important audience.

Danneel's movement catches his eye. He watches her nudge Misha and lean over to say something in his ear. Misha snaps his head to look at her, eyes wide. He shakes his head with vigor, but she nods at him stubbornly, leans in, and says something else. Jensen thinks he catches the words 'shut up and listen,’ as he's trying to read her lips, but he's a little busy at the moment. Whatever she said struck a chord, because Misha looks back at him like he hung the friggin moon or something. It's too intense, so Jensen just eyes his guitar strings like he suddenly has to mentally relay to his fingers what the fuck to do.

_ “It's hard to believe it, _

_ Even as my eyes do see it, _ _   
_ _ The very things that make you live are killing you...” _

For the first time since he started singing, he takes a deep breath and levels his emerald stare on Misha. Conflicted azure blues stare back at him, red rimmed, as Misha worries his bottom lip with his teeth.

__   
_ “So listen when all of this around us will fall over, _ __   
_ I tell you what we're gonna do, _ __   
_ Hey-ey, you will shelter me, my love, _ __   
_ And I, I will shelter you, _ __   
_ I will shelter you, _ __   
_ I will shelter you, _ __   
_ I will shelter you, _ _   
_ __ I will shelter you.

_ Hey, now, now...” _ __   
_   
_ He glances again at Danneel as he belts out the last of the chorus. She has tears in her eyes, her right arm perched atop the back of the couch as she lightly pets the top of Misha's hair, lazily drawing her fingers forward and back again. His stomach flips as he notices the tears that are  _ also _ in Misha's eyes, and  _ fuck,  _ he didn't mean for this to turn into a fucking cry fest. He snaps his eyes to Vicki for some reprieve. She has her head on Misha's shoulder, looking enthralled, but not crying, thank fuck.  _ Someone  _ has to be emotionally stable around here because the other two are about to make  __ him cry! He decides to close his eyes and finish. 

_ “So listen when _ ,” he puts his whole heart and soul into it.

_ “All of this around us will fall over, _

_ I tell you what we're gonna do,” _

He strums slower.

_ “Hey-ey, you will shelter me, my love, _ __   
_ And I, I will shelter you, _ __   
_ ‘Cuz if you shelter me too, _ __   
_ I will shelter you, _ _   
_ __ I will shelter you…”

And as the song finally comes to an end, he's met with enthusiastic applause.

He nods his head, pursing his lips as he feels his face heat up. The bashful rockstar no sooner has his guitar leaned against the wall and has barely turned around when he's tackled by his wife, who very well could be a (very small) linebacker.  _ Damn _ . He stumbles a little as she kisses him deeply, pulling apart to press their foreheads together.

“That was fucking beautiful,” she praises him, her tone hushed.

“Thank you,” Jensen replies, “you're beautiful too.” He takes a quick breath, wondering if he should be nosy, but he really,  _ really _ wants to know, so… “What'd you say to him?”

“I told him you were singing that song for him.” She smiles victoriously. “And then he refused to believe me so I told him to shut up and listen to the damn lyrics.” That earns a laugh from Jensen and another kiss before he lowers his forehead to her shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispers, “I'm a lucky son-of-a-bitch.”

“Yes, Mr. Ackles, you are.” She pulls away, only to boop him on the nose, and then grabs Vicki's hand, dragging her into the kitchen under the guise of, 'desperately needing more wine!’ They've always been keen on when to give their two, stubborn men some privacy - case in point, Vicki pushing Jensen to take care of a clearly begrudged Misha when they first arrived - yes, they are two of the luckiest men alive.

He watches as Misha slowly lifts himself from the couch, brushing imaginary crumbs off his shirt, clearly unsure of what to do. The man's never been good at receiving love, but Jensen's learned to be pretty patient… for Jensen at least.

“Hey, Mish,” he says, eyeing him dubiously, “you spill something on you?”

“No, I'm…” Misha takes a deep breath, putting his hands on his hips and dropping his head. The next breath is a punctuated exhale as his head lifts and watery, ocean blue eyes stare at him. “Did you sing that for me?” He's holding his mouth the way he does when he's about to cry, and if that's not enough to give it away, his quivering lip is.

Jensen doesn't know exactly what to do either, so he just nods. For all he knows, with Misha's mood swings lately, the man could blow up on him.

“Why?” Misha asks. Jensen watches a tear escape from the corner of his eye and clears the lump in his throat.

“Because.” He sighs. “Because you needed to hear it, and...and I needed to make you listen. I'm not ever going anywhere, Mish, I'm--”

He's cut off abruptly by Misha's hands framing his face. Misha's lips are on his in an instant, feverish, desperate. Jensen's stunned once again, hands out to his sides once again, but as if on instinct, they slide around to Misha's back, pulling him in tight. Their heads tilt as Jensen glides his hands up and down, soothingly, slowing the kiss, nipping at Misha's lips with his own, revelling in the man's soft whimpers and sighs, Misha's arms now fully thrown over Jensen's shoulders. He kneads his fingers into the younger man's hair, and Jensen feels like he's flying.

All too soon, Misha's pulling back. It's his turn to press their foreheads together, breaths, sweet with whiskey, mingling in the space between them. “Thank you, Jens,” he whispers.

“Anytime, Mish.” Jensen smiles.

“Oh shit, Dani, look how precious they are,” Vicki's voice rings out as the boys, still wrapped in their embrace, both twist their heads in her direction.

Danneel rounds the corner and stops abruptly. “Awwwww!” The expression on her face bears a striking resemblance to when she sees her kids doing something incredibly adorable. Jensen isn't sure how he feels about that. She marches toward them, arms outstretched. “Group hug!”

And suddenly, four more arms are wrapped around the blushing boys.

“Okay, look,” Misha announces, wriggling his way out of the group. “We have to do something else,” he laughs, wiping his eyes,  “this night is  _ not _ meant for a cry fest, goddamn it!” The emotionally exhausted man drops onto the couch again, smiling warmly at the other man still standing, as he's flanked immediately by Vicki on his right and Danneel on his left.

Jensen huffs as he takes the caboose end of the cuddle train…  _ again. _ He doesn't understand why Misha gets all the action from the girls. Maybe  _ he  _ wants to be in the middle of a V - slash - Dee sandwich.

“Well, I  _ have _ been wanting to make a Kransekake,” Danneel muses aloud. “Anyone wanna help me so it doesn't end up looking like a deflated santa hat?”

“You wanna make a what now?” Vicki asks, looking perplexed as she cranes her neck around.

Misha decides this is a perfect opportunity to tease his lovely wife. “You have a PhD in sexual history, and you don't know what a kransekake is?” He feigns shock. “It's one of the most well known aphrodisiacs in the world, Victoria, come on! Can you feel my disappointment?”

She stares at him for a moment, seemingly flipping through her roll-a-dex of knowledge. The other two traitors remain silent, not giving up the charade. The slightest hint of a smile flashes across Misha's mouth because, let's face it, he sucks at messing with her, and the jig is up immediately.

Danneel finally breaks the silence with her laugh. “It's a Danish dessert, and  _ not _ an aphrodisiac…  _ Misha _ , you dork.”

“Mm-hm,” Vicki nods at Danneel, then narrows her eyes at Misha. “And  _ you _ are sitting far,  _ far _ too close to me to be fucking around right now, Dmitri,” she warns.

He jumps up dramatically, squealing high pitched and ear-piercing. “Oh shit! She has that look in her eye! Save me, Dani! Let's go make your Danish sex food!” With that, he darts into the kitchen, a giggling Danneel trailing behind him, and an exasperated Vicki and Jensen left sitting on the couch, shaking their heads.  _ Kindred spirits, those two. _

“So.. that song,” Vicki shoves Jensen lightly in his shoulder. He lets his body move with her touch. “Pretty perfect, huh?”

Jensen drops his head and smiles shyly, not looking at her. “Yeah, I guess,” he nods.

“Liar,” she chides.

He whips his head up to eye her. The lids around his gorgeous greens narrow suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

“You knew that song way better than you let on.” She purses her lips. “You  _ have _ been practicing that, Jen.”

Well, now his face is a lot pinker that it was. “Alright, fine,” he grins. “I've known that song for a while. I'm a fan of the artist, but seriously, only been practicing a few days.” He shrugs. “Thought I might sing it at a convention sometime, but they usually want the faster paced stuff. Can't really blame 'em.”

“Well,” she starts, leaning in a little closer, “I thought it was beautiful. And I think he's lucky to have you.”

Jensen blushes at that. He opens his mouth to speak a couple times, but can't seem to get the words out right. He finally settles for mumbling through it. “Thanks. I, uh, I… yeah, I feel the same about him.” Vicki's staring at him appraisingly and it's making him fucking nervous, so he rubs the back of his neck. “You can stop that anytime now,” he says, embarrassed.

Vicki smiles. “Oh, c'mere, ya big sap.” She grabs the bashful, but very macho Texan, pulling him in for a tight hug.

“I… worry about him,” Jensen confesses. Vicki's smile falters, but just briefly before her stoicism is back in place.  _ Man, she's a rock, _ he thinks. “I mean, do you think he's gonna be okay?”

Vicki looks away and sighs before nodding, a tell-tale sign that she's a little worried too; that she's not sure, but she isn't letting on, and she knows her husband better than anyone, so no matter what she says, Jensen's gonna trust it.  _ He has to. _

“He's always done too much,” she says, “put too much on himself, internalized too much. Like he has to single-handedly save the world or something.”

Jensen huffs a chuckle at that. “Yeah, he sounds like Dean Winchester in real life… except less emotionally repressed.”

“And less violent,” Vicki laughs.

“True.” Jensen nods.

“But as much as this Twitter and Facebook mess has gotten to him,” she continues quietly, “I think this,” she waves around the room, “is exactly what he needs. You can put a smile on his face even when I've exhausted all my innate charm.”

Jensen's blushing again.

“Maybe we should work out some kinda custody agreement,” he replies. “You send him to me when you've had it up to here and vice versa.”

Vicki laughs loud and boisterous at that. “We totally should!”

“Hey can you two stop making out for five minutes and come help us?” Misha's voice echoes through the room, and they both jump slightly. “We're up to our elbows in sticky goo in here!”

Jensen chuckles as he stands up, green eyes meeting curious blues. “That sounds like your typical evening, Mish.”

“Har har,” Misha mocks, “maybe when I'm with you, Jackles.”

“Touché.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! One more chapter to go! (And it's basically porn, soooo) <3


	3. Cooking Fast And Fresh With Polyamorous Boyfriends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misha's not entirely sure how they made it upstairs to the bedroom. (He might, slightly remember the girls halting activities briefly to take the Kransekake out of the oven, but he's having a hard time caring about that right now.) It's all a blur of lips, bare skin, teeth nibbling on sensitive areas, limbs pushing, pulling, and fingers caressing, kneading, but here they are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On December 31st, 2017, Misha Collins released an Instagram video of himself rolling dough to make a mystery pastry with a mystery gentleman's hand depicted. This is what really happened, folks, I don't make the rules.  
> Video in question: https://www.instagram.com/p/BdZaqhIFGbk/?hl=en&taken-by=misha
> 
> Also, the scene you're about to read was written with all the love. No disrespect intended to any parties involved!

“No, babe, you have to make it thinner than that. How's she gonna get it to fit in the thing all fat like that?”

There's a very audible snort coming from across the wide kitchen island, but Jensen  pays his filthy-minded wife no mind. He is hyper aware, however, that the whiskey's dulled his senses enough for him to no longer give a shit about calling Misha ‘babe’ while being recorded by his aforementioned wife on Misha’s phone. Hyper aware, but doesn't give a shit. Huh. He amazes himself sometimes.

“Are you saying you have a problem with the way I'm fingering my baguette, Jackles?” Misha raises one eyebrow, still intrinsically focused on his own handy work.

“I would _never,”_ Jensen feigns innocence, gasping for good measure before a slightly intoxicated giggle bubbles in his throat. He leans in, noses at Misha's ear and revels in the other man's lamely hidden shiver. “The way you're handling that dough is... intriguing.”

“Mmm, sure you wouldn't,” Misha replies, “but thank you, tough guy.” Without missing a beat, he turns his head, sticks out his tongue, and licks from Jensen's chin up to his cheek bone. He grins triumphantly when said tough guy rears his head back, nose scrunched in disgust.

“Seriously, dude? What are you, twelve? Are you gonna give me a noogie now? I mean, you're still too short to’ve suddenly turned into Jared.”

Misha narrows his eyes at the audacity of the man whose body is still far too close for him to be grossed out by Misha's tongue. _I mean, come on._ “I'll tell you what's serious,” he all but growls, “I think you broke my tongue."

“That's… not a thing, Mish,” Danneel laughs.

Jensen gestures one arm toward his wife in a silent thank you, still eyeing his clearly, maddenly immature boyfriend.

“You need to shave, Jens. Seriously, like licking a cheese grater.” He sticks his tongue out again, talking around it. “Am ah bweeding?”

Jensen rolls his eyes, finishing up with a mocking side-eye before suddenly grabbing the asshole’s face and wrapping his mouth around the entirety of that poor, injured tongue. Misha yelps in surprise, but soon his doughy hands are buried in Jensen's hair and their - maturely put - full-on sucking face.

“Ummmm,” Danneel starts. “Jen... dough... Misha...uh, hands.” She's obviously unable to get a full sentence out at the display in front of her, but Jensen gets the drift. He pulls back suddenly, granted a little less comfortable in his carpenter shorts, and eyes the older man dubiously.

“Did you just…” he lifts his hand, reaching back to essentially pet at his own head. It's slightly wet. A little sticky. And not the good kind. “Come on, man, what the fuck?” he gripes.

“Don't _'what the fuck’_ me, Jensen, this is _your_ fault!” Misha challenges in return.

“You licked my face!”

“You sucked on my tongue...that you _broke!”_

“I…” Jensen stops short. He's got nothing. “Well, you put it out there! And Dee said I didn't break it. It's not a thing, _Misha,_ so...”

 _“So?”_ Misha throws his hands up. “So you just _had_ to suck on it? You happen to know, _Ackles,_ that my hands cannot control themselves when you suck… on my… _tongue!”_

“Well,” Jensen's hands perch themselves on his own hips, gripping this flesh through his loose-fitting shirt a little too tightly. _“You_ know, that _I_ can't, _resist_ ... _that… tongue,_ you asshole!”

Misha's expression turns resigned. A little smug, too, if Jensen's being honest. “Yes, I know,” he states calmly.

“So you admit you were wrong? To both lick my face and shove your tongue in it?”

“No,” Misha scoffs.

Jensen huffs. “Well then, I wasn't wrong to suck on it.”

“Fine.” Misha juts his chin out. Jensen smirks in response.

“I think you should be responsible for washing my hair.”

“You're a grown man, Jens,” Misha rolls his eyes, “I think you're perfectly capable of washing your own hair.”

“You gonna wash my hair, Mish?” Jensen raises his eyebrows, leveling the man in front of him with _that_ _look._

Misha grins, raising just one eyebrow. “Maybe. But first, how about you help me roll my log?”

Jensen licks his lips, because _this fucker._ “Here, babe, let me get some of that old flour out of the way first, put some more down. Less friction that way.”

“One of the only times we'll want _less_ friction, I'm sure,” Misha muses.

“God, they're ridiculous,” Vicki scoffs playfully. Danneel hums in amused agreement.

“I know, right? It's like they're the ones that are actually married. It's cathartic as hell, really.” She's been watching the two men through the screen of Misha's phone the whole time. “Hey, did you guys forget I was recording this?” She can't help the edge of sarcasm to her tone.

“Oh shit.” Jensen looks at her in alarm. “Can you mute it, Dee? Wait, am I all the way in it?” He's not altogether sure why he's having this brief moment of panic… maybe because if it was Dee's phone, it could be kept away from the public at large for safe keeping. But it's Misha's phone, and that's almost a one hundred percent guarantee that this little 'Cooking Fast & Fresh With Polyamorous Boyfriends-who-happen-to-both-be-married-to-other-people’ is _going_ to be posted to at _least_ Instagram.

“I dunno,” Danneel grins, looking over the phone wickedly at her husband, “ _are_ you 'all the way in it’?”

He glares. Again. Misha snorts, the asshole.

“No, baby,” she soothes, “you're not fully in it. Just your hands and,” she gestures with her finger, “whatever this get-up is you're wearing.”

“Despite Jensen's poor outfit choice,” Misha interjects…

“Whaaaa? _My_ outfit choice? Have you _looked_ at yourself lately?” Jensen growls. Misha tries to pretend that sound doesn't go straight to his dick.

“Anyway,” he barely nods in Jensen's direction, focusing, rather, on the woman with his phone, “I think it'd be in everyone's best interest if you muted the video, Dani.”

“Mayyyyybe,” she looks at Vicki and winks before side-eyeing the boys. “What's in it for me?”

“Dee!”

“Dani!”

Both men shout in unison.

She widens her eyes in mock innocence. “Fine! Geez, whiners.” Her beautiful, mischievous brown eyes roll and shift to Vicki, stage-whispering as she says, “like I hadn't already muted it.”

“You're evil,” Jensen whispers dramatically.

“Yup,” Misha pops the 'p,’ “she is indeed.”

Danneel laughs, laying her head on her cohort’s shoulder. “Remind me again why we're married to these children-in-men's-bodies, Vick.”

Vicki pets her head lovingly and sighs. “Because they're maddeningly handsome, devastatingly good in the sack, and ruthlessly good-hearted assholes, Dee.”

Danneel humms. “Oh, that's right.”

“Okay!” Misha exclaims triumphantly. “These are ready to bake!” The girls wolf whistle and clap, which in turn encourages Misha to dramatically bow as if he's just put on the best show ever. He looks at Jensen and smirks. “Ladies and...ladies. My trusty sidekick, Nesnej Jackles!” More wolf whistles and applause from the girls, and one very prominent middle finger from Jensen. “Okay, sidekick,” Misha's taken on the tone of a talk show host at the moment, winking at his boyfriend, “please fetch the greased pans.”

“Um…” there's a pregnant pause, and all eyes of the 'audience’ are on Jensen. “Gr-greased pans,” he asks, eyes wide and just this side of too innocent to be real.

Misha sighs, exasperated. “You _did_ grease the pans, right?”

“Maybe?” Jensen shrugs. “I could have?” He shrugs again. “But I didn't.” He hangs his head in mock shame, but Misha can see his grin even under all those freckles.

“Dude, seriously?” Misha chides. “You had _one_ job, Ackles!”

“I did,” Jensen nods his head, but Misha senses some facetiousness he's not all together happy about. Then Jensen elaborates, “Putting up with _your_ ass.”

“Oh Lord,” Vicki rolls her eyes, nudging Danneel with her elbow, “here we go.”

Danneel snickers. “Whatever. I love it when they argue on film. _Still recording,”_ she sings.

Misha, acutely aware that he's on camera and said footage could be pulled out at anytime to blackmail him - no matter that it's his phone, his wife is an inexplicable expert at putting shit on hard drives that he didn't even know existed - trains his face carefully and raises that one, famous eyebrow. “You're gonna pay for that later, you shit.”

“Promise?” Jensen grins. “I know!” he yells, suddenly. Everyone jumps a little. “We should play naked Twister!”

There's no response… from any of them. Albeit, the girls are pressing their mouths together ridiculously hard, trying not to laugh. Misha, on the other hand, sighs and shakes his head.

 _“Wow,”_ he laughs in spite of himself. “You're actually _that_ drunk.”

“Nope.” Jensen shakes his head. “Tipsy, Mish. _Tipsy._ There is a difference.”

“Okay,” Misha draws out the word. “But if you think you can beat me at that game, cowboy, you've got another think coming.”

“Oh… I can beat you,” Jensen replies conspiratorially.

“Is that so?”

“Yep.”

“You realize, young Skywalker, that I can do acrobatic yoga.”

“So?”

“I'm gonna kick your ass, and you know it.”

“Mmhm. We'll see about that.”

 _“Okay,”_ Misha relents, “but don't say I didn't warn you.”

“Bring it, Dmitri.”

“You missed a word there, honey,” Danneel laughs. She looks at Vicki and, in unison, they shout…

“ _Bring it out!”_

Jensen looks sheepish, and Misha laughs, loud and hearty. “Okay, fine, Jackles,” he says, “we can play, but first I really, really need you to do something for me.” He leans in close, his mouth an inch from Jensen's, and he can hear the man's breath hitch. He licks his lips for good measure.

“What, Mish?” Jensen whispers. “Anything.”

“I need you to…” he brushes his lips across the younger man's, but pulls back just as Jensen tries to lunge forward. “grease the _fucking…_ pans!”

***

“Right foot, green!” Danneel pronounces.

They've stripped down to their underwear. It's not _exactly_ naked Twister, but _Jesus_ , they're not complete savages.

“My foot is friggin _already_ on green,” Jensen protests, “ spin it again, Dee.”

“Nope,” Misha says, smug, “I got this shit.”

Jensen's in crab-crawling position; legs spread apart, hands behind him, torso facing the ceiling. Misha's crotch is already in his face, which wouldn't be a problem if he could actually move… but he's goddamn determined not to lose this game.

Misha swings his leg forward, whipping it around Jensen's protruding knee and bowed right leg, landing perfectly on the green circle right next to Jensen's foot. His crotch is now rubbing against the stubborn Texan's, and Jensen bites his lip in response.

“How the fuck?” he snarls. “You're not even _human!”_

“I dunno about this, Jen,” Vicki says, “he's really good.”

“Hey V? Shut it!” Jensen chides. “Besides, the peanut gallery, who chose _not_ to play, gets no opinion on the matter.”

“Two words, my friend,” Misha replies, “acrobatic...yoga.”

Jensen's honestly tired of his smug ass.

“Baby, it's your turn,” Danneel sing-songs. “Right hand, red!”

“Aw, shit,” Jensen grumbles. This is impossible, and _no_ , he doesn't know what the fuck he was thinking, _but_ , he's gonna see this shit through. He uses momentum from his left arm, and pushes up, swinging his right arm up and over Misha's backside, landing his right hand smack on the middle of the red circle.

Misha's body twists with the force of Jensen's movement, and now, his right leg is suspended in mid air, over Jensen's hip; they're cotton-sheathed cocks pressed firmly together. Both men groan.

“You give up yet?” Jensen mocks his boyfriend.

“Fuck you,” Misha grunts.

“Okay,” Danneel announces, “Mish... right hand, yellow!”

“Piece of fucking cake,” the older man retorts. He slides his hand easily into position, nudging Jensen's balls with the backside of his shoulder.

“Fuck, I hate you!” Jensen shouts.

“Listen, Ackles,” Misha chuckles, “don't hate the player, hate the game.”

The girls roar in laughter.

“You fucking suck!”

“Sometimes,” Misha replies. _Yeah, he's still smug._

“Dee,” Jensen calls, “I'm ready.” But there's no answer. “Dee!” Still no answer. “What the f--” he turns his head to see just what the hell is going on, and he's momentarily taken aback by the scene before him.

His wife… and Misha's wife… licking into each other's mouths, arms locked around one another. He sees Vicki's hand slide beneath the waistband of Danneel's pants; hears his wife gasp, and he's officially fucking gone.

“Shit,” he whispers. “Mish... _Mish.”_

“What?” Misha responds, oblivious. “You give up yet?”

“Huh?” He sighs, realizing his idiot friend has no clue. “No… look.”

“Look at what, Jens? I'm a little bit gravitationally compromised at the moment.”

“Oh for the love of… turn your head. And. _Look.”_

Misha grumbles something under his breath, but does what the younger man asks.

“Well, fuck,” he says.

“Yeah,” Jensen breathes, “we should… we, uh, should join. Dontcha think?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? _Yes_ , I think we should… as soon as you give up and admit defeat.”

Jensen peers through the peephole between his bicep and Misha's thigh. “You serious?”

“As global warming,” Misha deadpans.

“Oh my fucking God, Misha,” Jensen whines. “Our wives are making the fuck out, and you _still_ wanna make this a competition?”

Misha shrugs as best he can, grazing Jensen's cock as he does. “Just admit I am the king of Twister - naked or half naked, anytime, really - and we can get this porn on the road.

“I fucking hate you.”

“I know. You were about to say?”

“Ugh. Fucking _fine_ , you win. I give up. Happy now?”

“Immensely,”  Misha _sadistic motherfucker_ Collins replies.

***

Misha's not entirely sure how they made it upstairs to the bedroom. (He might, slightly remember the girls halting activities briefly to take the Kransekake out of the oven, but he's having a hard time caring about that right now.) It's all a blur of lips, bare skin, teeth nibbling on sensitive areas, limbs pushing, pulling, and fingers caressing, kneading, but here they are.

Danneel's shoved Jensen onto the chaise lounge, straddling him, while Vicki has successfully worked her husband into a frenzy, cock painfully hard, standing at attention, and weeping. Jensen dips his head a little, hooded green eyes meeting blue, and the boys exchange a look. They both love it when their women take control, but that's only gonna last so long before Misha's instincts take over completely.

“Get on the bed,” Vicki coos in his ear, taking the bolt of his jaw between her lips. He shivers. Because _fucking, yes ma'am._ “On your back, baby.”

The bed dips with Misha's weight, head tilting to the right to watch his two other lovers in the room. He slides his body as far back as he can before reaching the headboard, continuing his voyeurism. “Don't let him come yet, Dani.” His voice is low, gravelly with lust; his breath hitches in this throat as his eyes glide over her back and undulating hips. Danneel turns her head, sidelong glance at Misha through gorgeous brown, hooded eyes, mouth slightly open. Her lips quirk up in a half smile in his direction, and it sets his body aflame. In all the times they've done this, she's always been in tune to what he wants.

They're all in tune with one another, even when it seems like they're not… that's what makes this work.

Danneel stands, eliciting a frustrated groan from Jensen as she pulls him up with her for one more searing kiss. Misha watches as Vicki walks over to them. He licks his quickly drying lips as she moves Danneel's hair out of the way to suckle at the base of her neck. The younger woman's hand flies back to tangle in his wife's hair as Vickie's hand glides between the two people in front of her, gently kneading Danneel's breasts, rolling her nipples between her fingers.

“Mmmm,” Danneel moans, pulling Jensen in closer, kissing him deeper, before letting him go and turning into Vicki. The two women clash lips, while Jensen picks up where Vicki left off, nipping at Danneel’s neck and shoulders. Misha palms at his achingly hard cock.

“Dani,” he says on his breath, “c’mere, baby girl. I need you on my face… right now.”

Danneel kisses Vicki once more, squeezing the other woman's ass with both hands for good measure, before sauntering over to Misha like the sexy little minx that she is.

“Gimme your mouth first,” he whispers, as she crawls into the bed next to him, and she does as she's asked. Misha cradles the back of her neck with his hand, pulling her into him, and licking into her mouth. She sighs into it, slipping her fingers around his torso to lightly scratch down his side. Her hand move south, palm sliding up and down his rigid erection, and he bucks. “Mmmfffcckk,” he mumbles. He pulls her onto him, lifting her upper body like it weighs nothing, to lave at her nipples with his tongue.

“Mish,” she whines, arching into him.

The two of them are paying no attention to their respective spouses, but suddenly a groan, and a, _“fuck, V,”_ is heard from across the room, and Misha knows his wife is giving his boyfriend some of her expert knowledge...as she does. She's thorough like that. Misha tangles his long fingers into Danneel's hair to delve deeper into her mouth before pulling back, their chests already heaving.

“Vick, get him ready,” he commands, because foreplay is fucking over. It's time for the main event. _And now he sounds like a fucking UFC announcer in his head, which is completely unfortunate._

“With pleasure,” he hears Vicki reply, before an audible slap of hand to quivering flesh, and a deep, guttural groan. _She's an expert, indeed._

“You wanna watch?” Misha whispers in Danneel's ear.

“Fuck yes,” is her breathy reply.

Misha lifts her effortlessly to his left side, her leg hiked over his knee, her own knee grazing his cock, and he bites his lip. They both watch as Vicki guides Jensen to the bed, gently nudging him onto all fours, facing his wife and boyfriend. The man's green irises are barely noticeable by the soft light of the lamp in the corner; pupils blown wide with want and need. Those eyes shift between Misha and Danneel, bottom lip tucked firmly between his teeth as Vicki's left hand glides over the mound of his ass to his lower back, steadying him. The fingers of her right hand, slick with lube, nimbly begin to work him open, and his head falls between his shoulders on a long, drawn out moan.

“Jesus fucking Christ, that is _so_ hot,” Danneel's voice is quiet, but fast becoming wrecked, and Misha - barely able to control himself - begins to knead at the flesh of her backside. He dips his fingers inside, grazing puckered skin, going lower until one finger is completely sheathed by her and she's mindlessly pushing down on him, whimpering as she watches her husband being fucked by Vicki's fingers.

 _“Fuck,”_ Jensen arches his back as Vicki twists and curls, hitting that sweet spot until his eyes fix onto Misha's midnight blues, and he begs, _“please, Mish.”_

Misha gives him one more second, watching until he knows, and then looks at his incredible wife and nods once. _He's ready._ He taps Danneel to reposition, and slides himself down to give everyone plenty of room. “Face him,” he quickly instructs the younger woman as she moves to her knees.

It's almost like a choreographed dance as they all get into position: Jensen straddling Misha's hips, poised and ready over his cock; Danneel carefully placing one knee to the other side of Misha's head - bracing her hands on Jensen's back, and Vicki, slipping around to Jensen's right. Jensen dips his head down to lick and suck at Misha's chest, eliciting a hiss from the older man's throat as he grips Danneel's hips on either side, holding her up.

“Okay, Jens,” Misha finally says, shifting his hands to hold Danneel's thighs from underneath as Jensen lifts back up - Danneel slipping both hands up to cradle Jensen's face, wanton eyes staring her husband down. The younger man then lowers himself slowly onto Misha until he's fully impaled. Both men groan as Misha pulls Danneel's legs further apart and lowers her as well. He licks her from clit to entrance, dipping his tongue inside, and she throws her head back, a soft cry escaping her lips.

Vicki noses at Jensen's ear, licking the shell before nibbling at his stubbled jaw, wrapping her hand around his leaking erection. He gasps, his hips pistoning as Misha thrusts into him slowly, and he turns his head, crashing his mouth to Vicki's, teeth nibbling at her lips, tongue brushing against hers again and again. Her hand releases his dick, only for her nails to scrape up his belly, and he bucks harder. “Mmmm... _shit_ ,” is all he can muster through his breaths against her mouth.

Danneel grapples at Jensen and Vicki's shoulders, bracing herself as Misha licks relentlessly, circling her clit with the tip of his tongue, only to pull back when he feels her start to unravel, fucking into her with it. Vicki and Jensen take turns, hungrily kissing the younger man's wife, as his hand blindly finds its way between Vicki's thighs from behind her. Thick fingers slide between wet folds and dip inside. She moans, grinding into them, pushing them in further, and returns her hand to Jensen's cock, gripping tightly, swiping her thumb over the sensitive, leaking tip.

 _“Fuck, V,”_ he growls in response, “you can't…”

“Yes I can,” she whispers in his ear. The Texan shivers.

Misha's thrusting a little harder now, heat pooling in his core, and Danneel's hips are surging against his tongue. Rippled waves of pleasure roll through her body, increasing in momentum until she's right at the peak. Misha feels it, tastes her increasing arousal, and decides to give her what she needs. He flattens his tongue, lapping at her until shes a quivering mess above him.

 _“Mish... fuck… I'm--”_ is all she gets out before he closes his lips around her clit and sucks. The gesture sends shockwaves through her body, and she cries out as she crests. Vicki takes her mouth, swallowing her moans, coaxing Danneel through her orgasm as Jensen caresses his wife's face.

When she comes down, she lifts a shaky leg over Misha's head, and immediately bends to kiss him, moaning as she tastes herself. “Thank you, Mish,” she whispers.

“You're welcome, Dani girl,” he whispers back. “Take care of my hot ass wife, while I take care of your needy ass husband?”

Danneel grins, enthusiastically replying, “fucking absolutely!”

“I heard that, you dick,” Jensen scoffs.

“You were meant to.” Misha winks at his boyfriend, receiving a middle finger in return - which he thinks briefly about snarkily replying that _no, I'm fucking you right now, cowboy_ \- but refrains, as Danneel takes Vicki in a scorching kiss and pushes her to lie down, her head facing the foot of the bed.

Both men halt their movements, watching with rapt attention as Danneel settles herself between Vicki's legs. She fingers her first, bending to kiss along her stomach and navel, thumb circling her taut bud. Vicki gasps and arches, kneading her fingers into Danneel's hair as the younger woman moves down, replacing her fingers with her tongue. Vicki circles her hips, soft mewls escaping from her chest, and Jensen turns back to look down at Misha, lust flaring in his jade green stare.

He swallows. “My wife is eating your wife,” he mutters.

“Yes I know,” Misha deadpans, raising an eyebrow. _Like that's never happened before._ He tilts his hips and thrusts.

 _“Mmphfuck,”_ Jensen growls.

“Get down here.” Misha gesture with a curled finger. Jensen complies. His lips collide with Misha's, tongue seeking entrance that's granted instantly, but Jensen pulls back.

“Fuck, I can taste her,” he breathes against Misha's mouth.

“You like tasting your wife my my lips, Jensen?”

 _“God,_ yes.” He dives in again. He drags his lips across Misha's stubbled jaw to his ear, nibbling on the lobe, blowing lightly in his ear. Misha whimpers in response, thrusting harder, grazing Jensen's prostate. The other man yowls. “Been needing you like this all night, Mish.” He frames Misha's head with his left arm, his right, reaching over to slide up his wife's toned thigh, ass and back. He reaches further, finding Vicki's knee, and caresses it, feeling her movements stutter more and more.

He loves this. He loves them all being together like this... intimate, raw, moving together almost like one, solitary being. It gets his heart thrumming like a snare drum; gets the heat humming, building inside him until it's a lit fuse racing toward imminent explosion. He hears Danneel moan, feels Vicki's movements falter, tangles his fingers in Misha's hair as he hears the other man's wife come on a strangled curse, and his breaths are punching out of his chest now.

He let's go of Vicki's knee to frame Misha's head completely, licking into his mouth, reveling in Misha's quick, staggered thrusts and soft, staccatoed whimpers. Jensen knows they're both gonna tumble over that edge soon.

Misha feels Jensen's neglected cock leaking between them and reaches down, wrapping deft fingers around the shaft. The younger man keens. His hips jolt, and Misha holds it tight, letting Jensen fuck into his fist. Misha knows he's close, he always knows, so he digs blunt nails into Jensen's back, thrusting deeper to hit his prostate every time. When he knows Jensen's almost there, he nips his way to Jensen's ear and whispers.

“Come for me, Jens.”

That's all the younger man needs. He drops his head to Misha's neck, muffling his cries in the strained muscle there as he comes in thick ropes between them.

It's another thrust or two before Misha follows suit, pulling Jensen's mouth to his as he groans long and slow, his hips staggering to a stop, body seizing as he spills into Jensen. He cries out one last time as he feels the man on top of him squeeze, milking every last drop out of him until Jensen's all but spent and collapses onto Misha's chest, both heaving in unison.

When it's all said and done, it's a sticky sweaty mess of limbs and naked bodies. But no one seems to care as they all four wrap themselves around each other. Misha spoons Jensen and Danneel, while Vicki plays the part of the big spoon on the opposite side, mirroring her husband. Jensen reaches long arms across both girls, squeezing tight.

“Can’t... breathe,” Danneel complains, finally breaking the silence, save for the sounds of collective breaths.

“Mmmm, this is nice,” Jensen muses aloud.

“It's nice when I can't breathe?” Danneel giggles. “Fuck off.”

“Already happened, baby.” Jensen smart-ass Ackles smirks at his wife, who - naturally - rolls her eyes.

“Well, this is lovely,” Vicki pipes up, “but you boys are gross, and need to clean up. Besides, you still have dough in your hair, Jensen. Have some human decency,” she adds sarcastically.

Danneel laughs at that, earning her a playful, yet lazy glare from her husband. “It's funny because it's true. Your hair's gonna be like fucking polymer.” She crinkles her nose. “And y'all smell like sex and sweat.”

“I beg your _pardon_ ,” Jensen ruses, “and just whaddya think _y'all_ smell like?”

“The difference is, Jen,” Vicki replies, “we smell good.” Danneel high-fives her over a grumbling Jensen. “Now, go clean up. Dee and I need some snuggle time.”

“Mm’tired,” Jensen mumbles petulantly, “wanna sleep.”

“C'mon, tough guy,” Misha chuckles, “can't argue with the boss ladies. Shower.”

 _“Fine,”_ Jensen finally relents.

…

A warm, steady stream of water cascades over Jensen's shoulders as Misha massages shampoo in the spent Texan's hair. There were barely any words spoken as Misha started the water, checked the temperature, and guided a dazed Jensen inside. Jensen hums his approval, gliding his hands up and down Misha's sides and closes his eyes.

“Thank you, Mish,” he says, “you always take good care of me.”

“Mmmm,” Misha replies absently, rinsing the last of the soap out of his boyfriend’s hair. “You took care of me today, so thank _you.”_

Jensen opens his eyes, wiping water droplets off his face and searches Misha's. The older man's expression is tired, but there's no sadness in his eyes; just contentment and resolve. Still, he has to check.

“You okay, though?” Misha shrugs. “C'mon,man, I need to know if you're really okay.”

Misha smiles at him, blue eyes sparkling a little - _y’know, in a very manly way_ \- and says, “yes, I'm okay, you relentless shit.” He pushes Jensen against the tiled wall and presses his body into the younger man's.

Jensen sighs, circling his arms around Misha's back. “Good,” he replies, reaching in to kiss him, “because I kinda fucking love you, you asshole.”

Misha smiles against his mouth, grinding his half hard erection in to Jensen's - now standing at attention. _God, he's so easy._ “I love you too, cowboy.”

Misha delves into Jensen's neck; the younger man helpless to stop him, and blindly reaches up, moving the shower head away from them - _because he's not trying to drown tonight_ \- starting this descent down Jensen's chest.

“Mm, Mish,” the man groans, fingers kneading into Misha's shoulders. “We have time to do this? The girls gonna send in a search party?”

Misha scoffs, looking up at him. “Oh please. Like they're not in there getting each other off again.”

“Touché.”

Misha kneels, taking the shaft in his hand and licking the head - already beaded with pre-come - to the sound of Jensen's head falling wetly against the tile. Misha laves and sucks, swirling his godforsaken tongue around the head repeatedly until Jensen's knees threaten to give out, and he's a writhing, whimpering mess. He gives one more good tug with his lips, slipping his fingers between Jensen's ass cheeks, and the man comes on a garbled curse, spilling down Misha's throat. The older man milks him before standing, and Jensen immediately pulls him into a sloppy, wet kiss.

Misha doesn't have time to breathe before Jensen's reaching between them, wrapping thick fingers around Misha's now throbbing cock. The man's blue eyes screw shut, forehead falling to his boyfriend's strong shoulder as he let's himself be jacked relentlessly until he's coming all over Jensen's fist, unleashing a low, growling moan into his neck.

“Well shit,” he laughs after taking Jensen's mouth with his own, “now we're fucking dirty again.”

Jensen grins devilishly. “Hey, at least we're in here.”

…

Jensen's the last to wake up. Birds chirp outside his window like he's in some kind of Disney fucking fairytale, but he's perplexed and still fairly punch-drunk from the night before, wondering where everyone is. He throws on some clothes - an old band t-shirt and a pair of sweats to be exact - and pads down the stairs. He hears low, murmured voices coming from the kitchen, and quietly approaches.

The scene his eyes take in has him grinning like an absolute idiot: Vicki and Danneel, arranging china and silverware on a beautifully set table cloth, discussing how everything should go - debating, rather - and Misha, dressed almost exactly as he is, humming to himself as he puts the finishing touches on the Kransekake. Jensen folds his arms and leans against the door frame, reveling in this holiday nostalgia, committing everything he sees to the good memories part of his brain.

He's noticed by Danneel first, who announces enthusiastically that he's finally awake, followed by cheers from a facetious Vicki, and a sly grin in his direction from Misha. He winks at the older man.

“Get enough sleep, Aurora?” Misha's grin turns into a proud, toothy smile at his own joke.

“Har, har, fucker,” Jensen retorts. He glances at all of them. “We missed the countdown.”

Misha snorts. “I think we fucked our way through the countdown.”

“We didn't tell the kids 'happy new year,’” his mouth turns down in a frown.

“Aww, baby, it's okay.” Danneel walks over, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him. “I already called and told them. Misha and Vick FaceTimed Westie and Mais… all the kiddos are fine and dandy, and happy little shits.”

Jensen smiles down at her. “God, I love you. How'd I get so lucky?”

“I have no idea, but here we are.” She boops him on the nose before turning to finish her task.

Misha sets the decorated cake in the center of the table and raises his hands. “Breakfast Kransekake, anyone?”

There's a collective 'hell yes’ from the other three, and Misha stands back. He watches proudly, with reverie as his friends, his family, his lovers all dig into what he and Jensen created.

This is what's important. _This_ is what it's all about… love, laughter, teasing and togetherness, _and okay, yeah, hot, orgy sex, but that's besides the point_ . All of this is what he's taking home with him. Back to reality; back to the real world; back to a social media shitstorm that - if he's being completely honest - he doesn't give a fuck about anymore. Because this… _this_ is his reality, and he could never have asked for a better one, despite all the fucked up shit in the world. He loves these people with all his heart and soul, every cell of his being.

And as he and Vicki head to the airport later that day, he makes sure she knows that. That he's incredibly thankful she agreed to this visit; that she knows him so much more than he knows himself at times; that she is undoubtedly the rock that keeps him grounded, builds him up when he's defeated.Jensen, Danneel, his kids? All bonus rocks that he cannot and will not not ever be able to live without. This is his life, and it's a goddamn good life, regardless of small, insignificant, irrelevant people that try to crush it. He's resolved in knowing, without a doubt, that that'll never happen… and he smiles.

***

The end.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! If you liked it, let me know!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Next chapter will be up (hopefully) soon!


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